


Honey I'm Home

by clotpolesonly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Deputy Stiles Stilinski, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Stay-At-Home Parent Derek, finger paint and glitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 20:12:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12196596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clotpolesonly/pseuds/clotpolesonly
Summary: Derek’s got messy hand prints and swirls and smears all over his torso, with a few things that look like heartfelt attempts at farm animals. He’s also got blue finger paint in his beard. And glitter in his hair. Like, a lot of glitter.





	Honey I'm Home

**Author's Note:**

> i can't title things for shit, but who cares, it's fluffy enough that the title doesn't matter!! this is just a self-indulgent pile of goo and fluff to showcase my epic love for Derek as a stay at home dad.

It’s entirely possible that Stiles has never been more tired in his life. Okay, that’s a lie, but he’s still pretty damn tired. Running from one end of the city to the other over and over again on various calls always does that to him. Especially when half of those calls end badly, like today. He’s so fucking tired and honestly these are the kind of days that make him question whether being a cop is actually worth it.

Now as he approaches his house, he just wants to get out of his uniform and sleep for a thousand years.

Of course, that’s the plan. Stiles gets all the way through opening the front door, unbuckling his holster and stowing it in the locked safe in the entryway, and kicking off his shoes, which is part one of that plan, without complication.

“I’m home!” he calls out, shuffling down the hallway toward the muffled sounds he can barely hear coming from the living room. He rounds the corner to see—

Derek sitting cross-legged on on a blanket in the middle of the floor, the twins splayed out on their backs in front of him. All three of them are shirtless. All three of them are covered in finger paint. The boys have got some paintings of various animals on their chests that are pretty impressive considering the medium: Garret’s got a snarling cheetah taking up the most space, and Adrian’s stomach has a dragon with its tail wrapping around his side.

Derek’s got messy hand prints and swirls and smears all over his torso, with a few things that look like heartfelt attempts at farm animals. He’s also got blue finger paint in his beard. And glitter in his hair. Like, a lot of glitter. Seriously, did he let the boys just dump the whole tub of it on his head? He probably did, honestly.

As Stiles watches, Derek leans forward and shakes his head, sending glitter raining down on the boys as they squeal and laugh and try to roll away. Garret catches sight of Stiles in the doorway right before he rolls off the blanket and onto the pristine carpet, catching himself just in time to not make a mess with his painted chest.

“Daddy!”

He and Adrian are off the floor and preparing to throw themselves at Stiles in a heartbeat, but Derek catches them both by the waistbands of their pants and pulls them back.

“Whoa, there, tigers,” he says on a laugh. “You’re all messy. Wait until you wash up or until daddy gets out of uniform, okay?”

“Wash up!” Adrian says, and leads the way in a stampede for the bathroom.

Derek watches them go, shaking his head. Then he turns back to his husband, leaning back on his hands, and looks up with a smile that never fails to make Stiles’ heart skip a beat even after all these years. “Rough day, honey?”

“You’ve got a little something,” Stiles says teasingly, pointing at his own face. Derek just rolls his eyes and levers himself to his feet, unfair amounts of muscle on display as always. He saunters in close, crowding Stiles against the doorjamb.

Derek kisses him, slow and deep and thorough, and all the stress of the day melts out of him to leave every muscle achy but lax. Stiles hums into it, wishing he could really wrap his husband up in his arms but mindful of all the paint. He grasps onto Derek’s shoulders instead, anchoring himself there. He’s reluctant to let the moment end, but they do have to breathe sometime and the kids are probably coming back at some point.

“You’ve, uh. Got a little something,” Derek says, thumbing at Stiles’ chin where the paint from Derek’s beard has rubbed off on him.

Stiles huffs, flicks him in the chest, and says, “Jackass.”

Derek laughs. “And yet you love me anyway.”

 _More than you can ever know,_  Stiles thinks, just as the boys come thundering back down the hallway.

They collide full force with Stiles, nearly knocking him over backwards, each one latching onto a leg. They’re still wet from washing the paint off, but that’s okay. Water doesn’t stain, so they can cling onto him all they want like this. With a groan of effort, Stiles lifts up one leg (with Garret) and then the other (with Adrian), painstakingly making his way into the living room until he can collapse on the couch as the boys giggle.

Once he’s sitting, they clamber up to sit half-on and half-off his lap instead, both of them trying to tell him about their day at the same time. It’s a loud jumble of largely incomprehensible words, but Stiles listens attentively as he always does. And he trades looks with his husband—his gorgeous, amazing, ridiculous husband who’s watching him with the softest look on his stupidly handsome, paint-splattered face. And he can honestly say that he has never been more content.


End file.
